


lifeline

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25893823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: As though Iroh could do anythingbutwrench his child away from the flames, given the chance to do so.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 165





	lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> i have a longer atla thing in the works, but i started thinking about that moment when zuko's ship blows up in s1 and had Many Feelings about zuko and iroh. as i am wont to do, bc. fambly. oh my god.

Many months later, when Zuko tells the story of General Zhao’s attempt on his life, the horrible night that their dingy old cruiser burned down will be shortened to a single sentence. It isn’t out of dismissiveness on his nephew’s part—rather, Zuko eliminates the moments in their story that are too painful and personal to bring up over a celebratory feast. His friends will hear the story eventually, Iroh knows—but in the heady haze of victory, no one can dwell for too long on the harsher parts of their past.

_Uncle rescued me,_ says Zuko, a phrase that is repeated too many times to count as he tells the story of his journey to join the Avatar. Iroh’s boy is smiling sweet and bright, a brave and noble prince who wrenched his home from the hands of those who would burn it to cinders, and he says _Uncle rescued me._ A half-ashamed smile accompanies those words, his eyes directed furtively downwards—as though it was _ever_ Zuko’s fault for being angry, for hurting, for not understanding the cruelty of the world around him. As though Iroh could do anything _but_ wrench his child away from the flames, given the chance to do so.

* * *

The day after the Agni Kai, Iroh was the one to care for Zuko. The healer was allowed to administer bandages and treat the injury, of course, but it was Iroh who kept vigil in the prince’s quarters, soothing Zuko’s tears and holding back his own. Zuko was half-conscious, most of the time; the healer had given him a convoluted cocktail of numbing drugs and sleeping potions so that the pain wouldn’t overtake him. “It’s not the standard practice,” the man had told Iroh, “but given that our Prince is so young—” and then he had stopped himself, pressing his lips together, because no one was allowed to question the brutality of Ozai’s judgment. Anything resembling sympathy towards Zuko meant swift retaliation from the Fire Lord.

Iroh, however, was exempt from this. Ozai had always mocked him for his soft heart, and seemed to take a special delight in mocking him for staying with an ailing Zuko. “Attempting to make right what you wronged?” he’d asked once, sweeping into Zuko’s chamber when the boy was—thankfully—deep in a drugged sleep. “Your son is _dead,_ Iroh—and it’s ever more pathetic that you have chosen to replace him with my useless failure of a child. At least Lu Ten had the honor of dying a hero. My son will die an invalid.”

They all thought that Zuko was going to die. The medic, the Fire Lord—even Iroh, in those terrible moments where Zuko lay still and pale in his bed. He woke sporadically, begging—most often—for his father, and was often too confused to discern that Iroh was _not_ Ozai.

“Father, please,” he sobbed—and Iroh, who had not been called _father_ since Lu Ten went off to war, felt something in him shatter. “Please, please, I’m so _sorry—”_

How could anyone look at such a gentle little boy and brand him so cruelly? Zuko, brave and fierce, the spark of what had once made the Fire Nation _truly_ incredible—he had spoken his mind in an effort to help his people, standing his ground until it was his own father raising a hand against him. Though Iroh had turned a blind eye to the atrocities that Ozai had committed, he could no longer look away: Ozai, the esteemed leader of the Fire Nation, had struck down his _thirteen-year-old son_ as a demonstration of his absolute power.

There was no power in harming someone who loved you so deeply.

“I-I won’t do it again, I w-won’t speak out of turn—”

“Shh-shh-shh,” whispered Iroh, tugging Zuko close and rubbing comforting circles on his back. He’d done this with Lu Ten, years and years ago.

“S-s-sorry,” Zuko was still choking out, his breath coming in dry, hiccupping sobs. His apologetic placations were devolving into exhausted incoherency. “Won’t be bad— _want_ to be good—honor of th-the Fire Nation— _please,_ Father _—”_

More than anything, Iroh wanted to lie to Zuko—to forgive him, over and over, until Zuko’s face relaxed and his breathing evened out—but lying here would condemn the waking prince to to a world made a thousand times crueler by memories of a loving father. Iroh bit his lip until he tasted blood and drew Zuko close, holding him tightly until the sobbing boy tired himself out. _This_ he was able to do.

* * *

“I want my mother,” said Zuko the next day, his voice hoarse and distant. “I w-want—Mother, where’s Mother—”

“Rest, Prince Zuko,” said Iroh, stroking his nephew’s hair. “You need your sleep.”

“U-Uncle, where’s—why—”

“Shh.”

“No, I— _no—”_ Zuko’s clouded eyes were beginning to flash with that now-familiar panic. “I don’t— _Mother—”_

A week of watching his nephew suffer had weakened Iroh’s resolve. Lying about Ozai was one thing, but Ursa… “She’s coming soon, Prince Zuko,” he managed, his throat tight. “I promise she is coming. Lie down and get some sleep, and I will tell her you need her when you wake.”

The relief that spread across Zuko’s face was somehow _more_ painful to see than his usual terrified misery. “Mother’s coming?” he said, sounding less like the perfectly composed Crown Prince and _much_ more like a boy barely old enough to wield a sword. “She—Uncle, you have to t-tell her, tell her I didn’t—tell her I’m not—I didn’t _mean_ to, but—” He smiled, wobbly and soft, his eyes still not quite _there._ “But she still loves me. She still loves me.”

“Your mother loves you more than anything,” Iroh agreed, tears springing to his eyes. _This,_ he knew, was not a lie. “She will be very worried if she knows you aren’t resting.”

“I want—” Zuko’s brow furrowed. “I am the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation,” he said distantly, turning his good cheek to rest it on the pillow, “a-and I have—I have to earn the nation’s respect. I have to—” His voice was slowing. “Have to be good, I have to be good—”

“You are good exactly as you are,” said Iroh, but Zuko was already asleep. Lucky thing, too—by now, his tears were impossible to hide.

* * *

Only once, in his delirium, did Zuko ask for him. Iroh was half-expecting a plethora of apologies directed at _him_ as well, but when he said, “I am here, Prince Zuko,” Zuko just let out a broken noise and curled into his arms like a small child. As the prince’s fists closed around handfuls of his tunic, Iroh drew in a sharp breath, reaching to tangle his fingers in his child’s hair.

_His_ child, he realized, stunned by the weight of the moment. Zuko had sobbed out pleas for redemption when he believed his father was listening, begged for his mother to return to him—but it was Iroh from whom he sought out comfort, and that was no small responsibility to take on.

“Please stay, Uncle,” Zuko whispered into his chest. “Please don’t go away.”

Iroh knew his nephew. This would be no easy task. When Zuko recovered, he would be angry first and foremost—directing his ire at the uncapturable Avatar, storming the seas with stubborn determination—and it wasn’t impossible that the bitterness he felt towards his father might eventually warp him into something just as horrible and monstrous as the man Ozai had become. He had a good heart, but a good heart did not always lead a man down the right path in times like these—and Zuko was only a _boy._

“Uncle?” Zuko looked up at him, then, his one good eye brimming over with tears.

He was so _small,_ Iroh thought, and the wrenching realization that the boy would be sent out _alone_ was what finally forced his hand. Gently, he placed a hand on Zuko’s good cheek, smiling slightly when Zuko drew in a shaky breath. “I am right here, nephew,” he said. “I am not going anywhere.”

Zuko exhaled in a sobbing _huff,_ then let his head fall forward, tucking it under Iroh’s chin. Iroh gathered him closer, and for the first time, he felt Zuko relax entirely as he drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Years later, Iroh was reminded of those terrible weeks all in one horrifying moment. The ship in front of him, burning in a fiery blaze—the land behind him, bereft of the boy he thought he could save. He wanted to cry out Zuko’s name, but he knew the way of the world—his child had not survived. His inaction and indecision had taken another life. Grief hit him in the same _rush_ of hot air from the wrecked, burning ship, and he reeled where he stood, trying to find it in himself to breathe.

And then— _there._ Tumbling free of the wreck, a perfectly spherical blur of fire, _just_ big enough to hold and protect a gangly, prickly teenage boy who couldn’t brew tea if his life depended on it. Iroh was running before he could talk himself out of it, sprinting down the docks and diving into the water until he reached the quickly-dissolving shield of flame. It could be another firebender, of course, but if it was Zuko— _if it was Zuko—_

Visibly exhausted from the effort of maintaining his shield—and visibly shaking from the terror of the attempt of his life—an unconscious Zuko fell free as the last of the flames dissipated, tumbling with an unceremonious _splash_ into Iroh’s arms. Iroh very nearly sank in the churning waves himself out of sheer relief, and only barely managed to swim towards shallower waters, pulling Zuko awkwardly up and onto the shore to check his pulse.

Just as he found it—thready, but _there—_ Zuko jerked awake again, coughing up a ridiculous amount of water before slumping exhaustedly into Iroh’s arms. He didn’t say anything—just rested his cheek against Iroh’s chest with a small, hoarse sigh.

“My Zuko,” said Iroh, too relieved and shaken to remember the appropriate honorific, and tugged his nephew close.


End file.
